I knew she was upset about her mom, but she brushed it off every time I brought it up. She acted like she was fine. “You should’ve tried.”
“How could I? I killed Duke. And when that happened, I proved everything my mom said about me true.”
“What do you mean? What did she say?”
“It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”
I think back to all of the times I saw Emma beg for her mother’s attention, and it makes my skin crawl. “Tell me. Please.”
She lets out a breath, then says barely above a whisper, “She said I was too hard to love, and if I wanted her to love me, I should’ve made it easier.”
Rage fills my bones. How could this woman tell Emma something so awful? How could this woman be called a mother? I’d understand if Emma was a bad person, but the Emma I grew up with—my Emma—was a girl who deserved to be loved. Her mother never saw how amazing Emma was.
“You should've told me,” I say. There’s an ache in my chest, wishing I could comfort her better, but nothing I say will change the past.
“I thought you’d be happier without me.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Are you sure? You seem fine. When you went to high school, you moved on and made new friends. Back then I felt guilty when you spent time with me because you’d act all awkward and uninterested like you’d rather be somewhere else. We probably would’ve drifted apart anyway.”
“I wasn’t acting that way because I didn’t want to be around you,” I say.
“Then why?”
This conversation feels like white flags being waved high into the air, like we’re warring countries sharing our biggest secrets. We aren’t yelling or arguing. We’re talking the way I wish we had years ago before everything became complicated.
My cheeks burn, heat rising to my face as my heart pounds. Her being this close doesn’t help calm my nerves. If anything, it brings back the memories of butterflies in my stomach when I’d stare at her long lashes. Or how I’d take pictures of her when she stopped walking to smell a flower or skip rocks. I don’t think she ever knew, or if she did, she never stopped me.
“Because I liked you,” I say. “And that scared me.”
22
EMMA
I stop breathing.
I’m more confused than ever.
Myles Green liked me? Before the hate that grew, I knew him only one way. He was special and clever. But most of all he was kind. He was the type of boy who purposely wore too many layers in case I got cold because I never wore a jacket. He wouldn’t ask, he’d just hand me his coat if I had goosebumps, and I wouldn’t argue. I’d put it on every time because I liked having someone take care of me.
I liked having him around. He was like a security blanket I took everywhere. I knew I could count on him, but I took him for granted. He was better off without me.
“Say something,” he whispers, voice faltering.
I turn slightly. Just enough to see the nervous curve of his eyebrows and the tremble in his hand. It transports me back in time to the scared boy I knew, and I wonder if it’s possible for me to be wrong about him and what he’s capable of. He seems so sincere. How could he hurt Mallory? How could hehurt me? It’s feeling more and more unbelievable by the second.
I think back to the day in the grass when he leaned in and almost kissed me. I wanted it to happen so badly. When he pulled away, I spiraled because I couldn’t handle the idea of him liking me. I convinced myself it was in my head.
But it wasn’t.
I stir in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position.
What do I say? Does it matter how I feel now or how I felt in the past? Hasn’t too much damage already been done? Besides, I don’t belong here. Myles in my time is behind bars. He’s a killer.
I want to believe the Myles in front of me is different from the one I’m used to, but there’s a gnawing sensation in the back of my head I can’t ignore. I just need to make it through tomorrow, and maybe I’ll be able to forget the version of events I know. Until then I have to be cautious.
He clears his throat. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was a long time ago and things are different now.”
